


Something Burns

by mybabystriders



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 22:54:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8641360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mybabystriders/pseuds/mybabystriders
Summary: Basilton Pitch likes coffee. He also likes his roommate at school. They don't really go that well together.





	

   It was already getting chilly outside; today was predicted only going to reach about 40 degrees Fahrenheit, and it felt absolutely wonderful. Baz stared smugly at himself in the mirror, turning different ways to check out how he looked in his outfit. His hair was parted ever so perfectly and he had on a grey scarf to match his eyes. With a black jacket and dark green button-up, he felt pretty great. When didn’t he look great? With that concluded, he gave his jacket an extra pop and let his face fall back to it’s normal, somewhat condescending expression.

   “Where are you going? You look different.” 

   Baz turned around and rolled his eyes. Maybe the form-fitting jeans and boots were a bit much? Whatever, this was his choice. “Do you ever knock, Mordelia?”

   She shrugged and pursed her lips. “Not when the door is cracked. It’s Sunday, where are you even going?” 

   Average enough to ask as Baz never went anywhere on Sundays. He didn’t really go anywhere on any day unless he had to. Today was different, though. There was no football to play, he didn’t have an ounce of studying to do, and he didn’t fancy playing the violin with the headache he was nursing. “I’m going out.” Baz figured he may as well let his sister wonder. He never liked telling people where he was going, especially not his family.

   So, he slipped past his sister, walked through many large and dark rooms, and hopped into the car he was given for his birthday. As he pulled out on the main road and headed towards London, he looked up at the sky. Grey clouds loomed overhead, but they were just typical England clouds, and he had an umbrella in the back seat. 

   Baz wasn’t actually sure where he was going, he just drove aimlessly on a path that was familiar. He was on break from school for the week, something to do with the end of term, which left him with basically nothing to do. He had two friends, but they were only there to keep him entertained during school. They had never bothered to meet up outside of school, and Baz couldn’t even recall a time he’d run into them by accident. He wasn’t going to change that pattern now, not after seven years. That was partially due to his hatred of change, but it mostly came down to his pride. Pride was one of Baz’s worst traits, but it had gotten him far in his studies.

  Before Baz even realized where he was, he had parked his car in a lot near one of his favorite coffee shops. The shop itself was a few blocks down and it was fairly secluded. He never saw anyone he knew there, from school or anywhere else. It was a safe place to escape, and someone was always playing music. More often than not, the music was only mediocre, but it was tolerable and it gave the shop atmosphere. It was always something different from what he was accustomed to.

   Baz always enjoyed the walk. There were a few bookstores on the way and the structures varied, but they were always better than his house. Everything was better than his house. It was terrible. His room wasn’t even his to make, and he dreaded being there with all the gargoyles. It was the only room besides his youngest sibling’s that wasn’t haunted, though. That was another thing that he hated, the ghosts. People that never believed in ghosts sure did after they stayed a night at the Grimm-Pitch mansion. One journalist for a home and living magazine left the house screaming at only two in the morning because she had one unlucky encounter with one ghost. Daphne thought it was Baz’s great great uncle’s ghost. He never liked strangers in the house.

   Baz smirked at the thought as he pushed open the door to the shop. Sundays were nice, because it was typically more empty than other days, and he was happy to see that today was no different. There was no line to order, so he immediately stepped up to the front. He had his usual order in mind: a large white chocolate mocha with extra white chocolate. However, due to the shop’s emptiness, there was no one behind the counter. Baz’s eye’s narrowed. He liked fast service, with a smile, but not too friendly. Baz hated chatty Kathys.

  “Hey, newbie, we’ve got a customer!” a voice shouted from a table in the back.

   Baz turned irritably to see a guy in his mid-twenties with a plethora of tattoos and piercings clearing off a table. Baz rolled his eyes. Shouting also wasn’t his forte. What was even worse was the “newbie” that came stumbling out of the back room.

_    Snow.  _

   The buffoon came out stammering over an apology, clumsy as always. Charming as always. Simon Snow was the worst thing to ever happen to Baz. He was no competition for him, except in sports, but he always managed to make Baz furious - to make his heart race and his hands ache.He just wanted to grab that stupid, freckled face and kiss Snow until he’d stop bumbling.

   As soon as Simon’s eyes locked on Baz and he managed to register that it  _ was  _ Baz, his face hardened.

   “What are you doing here, Baz?”

   Baz clicked his tongue impatiently. “I came to get some coffee. I thought that was obvious. What are you doing here, Snow? Preparing for your future in food service? That must be dreadful to look forward to.” Crowley, why did he always have to spit out insults? He’d never get anywhere with Simon if he was always so insufferable.

   Simon’s jaw clenched and he once again made a show out of swallowing. Baz watched his neck move and his nostrils flared a bit. He definitely did not think about biting his neck. He did not think of leaving marks on that neck so the entire world knew Simon Snow was his. It wasn’t easy to share a room with Simon at school.

   Simon stepped up to the counter and clicked a button on the register. “What would you like?” he asked through gritted teeth. He did that a lot, the bared teeth and the growling.

   “A large white chocolate mocha. Double the white chocolate.” Baz blinked, watching Simon’s face. His eyes weren’t anything to consider genetically stunning, but they always trapped Baz. “That’s all.”

   “That’ll be five sixty-two.”

   As Baz handed over his card, he raised a brow, slightly confused. “Why exactly are you working, Snow? I’ve never seen you here before and it’s not a particularly long break we’re on.”

   Simon didn’t look up as he slid the card. “I’m filling in for someone. Do you want your receipt?” He handed the card back, simultaneously picking up a brown cup.

   Probably someone at a home, Baz figured. “No. Why aren’t you staying with the headmaster? Did he finally get tired of you following him around like a lost puppy all the time?”

   Simon gripped the cup so hard it crushed in his hand. He picked up a new one and turned his back on Baz, who had no choice but to sit on a bench across from the counter. He would usually get a bigger reaction, but Simon was probably trying to keep his cool at work.

   Baz resigned himself to waiting for his coffee, observing the way Simon moved. He’d obviously worked making coffee before. He wasn’t in any way graceful about it, but he did know what he was doing. He seemed to anyhow. It was nice to watch his muscles move from behind, how his hair fell at the nape of his neck. His curls were even more unruly than usual, and the freckles that dusted his neck reminded Baz vaguely of constellations. Simon also had these two moles towards the side of his neck, spaced almost like he’d been bitten by something. It was a somewhat familiar sight. Baz always had to stare at Simon’s back, unless he was asleep. Why was Simon so imperfectly perfect?

   Baz stood back by the counter right before Simon turned around with his mocha. He had already decided to stay, just to irritate Snow. As he took his coffee and squeezed from just below the rim, the lid popped off. Apparently, Simon hadn’t been paying much attention when he’d put it on. That, or he wanted to see Baz spill hot coffee all over himself.

   Baz hissed in pain as he quickly slammed the cup back on the counter to save himself from spilling more. Both he and Simon reached for the napkins in a state of panic, Baz’s more contained though he felt like his skin was melting on his legs. As their hands fumbled, Baz snarled.

   “Let me get it for fuck’s sake, Snow.” Baz grabbed a handful and began wiping off his hand and arm immediately.

   “I’m sorry,” Simon stammered. It must have been an accident because he wouldn’t be panicking if he’d let it happen intentionally.

   “It’s a little late for that,” Baz snapped coldly. This would take forever to dry and it was too chilly out to be wearing wet clothes. “I’m going to have to run by somewhere and buy myself some jeans that aren’t soaked.” He sighed.

   “I’m leaving early!” Simon called suddenly to the guy from before who was now sitting on a stool staring at his phone. He didn’t even wait for an answer. Simon just walked around the counter and grabbed Baz by the arm.

   “What the hell are you doing?” Baz asked, not bothering to rip his arm away, but not allowing Simon to drag him anywhere. He couldn’t trust Simon. They were enemies. Simon probably would kill him given the chance. Two years ago, he would have killed Simon, too.

   “Just follow me. I’ve got a change of clothes you can probably borrow.” And, with that, he started dragging Baz to the back room.

   “I don’t want any of your stupid shorts, Snow. I would rather catch a cold than be caught wearing any of your clothes.” His lip curled in disgust.

   “You can wear my khakis, then. I’ll wear my other  _ jeans _ .” Simon looked back over his shoulder at Baz who actually couldn’t find anything else to say.

   He didn’t want to stay in these, so he couldn’t complain more. Now that the coffee had cooled, his legs were cold. He also wasn’t going to say thank you. Instead, Baz stayed silent as he was led to the back and Simon grabbed his bag. Simon pulled out some jeans and closed the door. Baz looked behind him as it shut.

   “What are you doing, Snow?”

   “There isn’t a bathroom here. We change in our room all the time, so what does it matter?” Simon had already begun to take off his pants.

   Baz bit his lip. He hadn’t had his usual, crisp, expensive underwear today. His laundry was still being done. He’d been forced to wear the leopard print ones his aunt had bought him as a gag gift for Christmas the year before.  _ Of course it wouldn’t matter to you.  _ Baz sighed, and caught the pants that had been tossed his way. He’d just change and hope that Simon wouldn’t notice. If he did, he would just… He’d do something.

   He managed to change quickly. Simon didn’t say anything, so Baz figured he didn’t notice. Luckily, the pants had been too large on Simon. If not, they wouldn’t have fit Baz as well as they did. 

   “Well then. Thank you.” Baz turned his nose up and headed for the door. So did Simon. 

   Simon followed him out of the shop and onto the street. Neither one of them said a word and neither one of them even thought about the wasted money or getting a refund. They just headed in opposite directions. Then it hit Baz. Simon Snow doesn’t have a car. He probably couldn’t even drive. 

_    Why was I raised to be at least a bit chivalrous?  _ Baz turned. “I’m driving you home, Snow. You don’t even have a jacket on.” He then continued walking, calling back. “I’m not giving you an option.”

   To his slight surprise, Simon followed. His heavy footsteps gave that away. Neither one of them said a word all the way to car, and when the got to it, they both just sat down. Baz threw his jeans in the back and handed his phone over. 

   “Put your address in on maps.”

   Simon did, and then he handed it back. Baz didn’t argue with the silence, he just backed out of the spot and drove off. Simon stared awkwardly out the window, his head pressed against the glass. Baz didn’t comment. 

   After a few minutes, Simon adjusted in his seat. “Nice underwear, by the way.”

   Baz nearly slammed on the brakes. “Fucking hell, Snow.” His face turned pink. He couldn’t help it. “My aunt gave them to me. It’s polite to use gifts, not that you’d know anything about politeness.” He pursed his lips.

   “Thanks.”

   Baz’s eyes widened a bit. Simon snow actually showed him gratitude. “I couldn’t very well let you get sick. If you are going to be a good rival, you have to be in good shape. Honestly, you insult me.” Bloody hell, why didn’t he just tell Simon not to mention it?

   It was a relief that Simon’s house wasn’t far away and they got there in no time, because the ride was awkward.

   As Baz pulled up to the curb along the front, he glanced over at Simon who was already moving to get out of the car. He had an opportunity to charm him and he missed it.  _ It wouldn’t make a difference. _ Things would just go back to normal at school the next day anyhow - throwing fists, glaring, insults, and Baz pining hopelessly.

   Simon opened the door to step out, not showing any  signs of saying anything else. Baz caught his wrist. “I’m picking you up tomorrow, Snow. Bright an early. Be up.”

   Simon’s face flushed and his brows knit together like he didn’t understand what Baz had just said. He wasn’t given any chance to ask. Baz shut the door and drove off without elaborating.


End file.
